Or How I Learned to Love My Curves and Respect the Bum: Halloween Edition*
There was a time when I was so self-conscious about my body that I would tie my jacket around my middle to ‘hide’ all my imperfections.
If I could help it, I wouldn’t get up and walk past anyone I didn’t know. I would never approach the bar in a pub and would fret like nobody’s business if I had to get off the bus in front of a gang of youths in case they shouted abuse at me, like they had nothing better to do.
It wasn’t a good scene, man and I was miserable, often sweating away in a heavy leather jacket as the Summer came and went. Then somewhere, somehow it got better and I learnt about self-esteem.
It wobbles some days, of course, but in general I’m cool with what I have. I have all but put those silly notions out of my head. Perhaps people do whisper mean things about me, but I don’t hear them anymore. The freedom gained from learning to love yourself (for the most part) is incredible, but 1000 time better than that.
But this is the Halloween edition of my relationship with myself and so on to that.
Last year I got fed up with the party-pooperness of my fellow workmates and went to work dressed as a cat.
It was a half-arsed attempt to prove some sort of point, and I didn’t exactly thrown my back into it. A smudge of black eyeliner, whiskers and a darling little black nose topped off my glittery cat’s eye mask to perfection, and that was that.
It’s a weird feeling to be over dressed in public. It feels almost completely the opposite, as if you have omitted to put on underwear (or anything else) and have skipped into the workplace as naked as the day you were born.
Anyway, this year I have found myself organising a Halloween event to raise money for Macmillan, which is both great for the charity but also, the best ever way to ensure that I’m not alone in dressing up this year! I’m not going to reveal my outfit ideas just yet, but I will say, I have more than one.
Since I am also going to a party on the Saturday, what choice had I but to have two amazing costumes, hmmmm? Which leads me to the point I was trying to make with this entire post.
My work costume is pretty tame in terms of flesh to costume ratio because who needs to be confronted by my heaving bosoms when they’re trying to go about their daily business? Nobody that’s who. So it’s cool and comic booky – but very much buttoned up.
Saturday night is another matter. Again, I’m referencing one of my all-time favourite characters (also comic book), but this time it’s going to a little bit more risqué.
Full on busty, bare shouldered with a cinched waist. If I’m feeling it on the night, there will be fishnets. Basically, it will be a million light years away from the sad girl in the corner, too paranoid to actually get up and have a good time.
I simply don’t give a fuck about worrying anymore, I want to be part of the real action this year.